


Necromancy for Dummies

by redhoodedwolf



Series: Sterek Week '16 [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Claudia Stilinski Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Hale Family Feels, Halloween, Kisses, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Necromancy, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sterek Week 2016, SterekHalloween2, Stiles finding himself, Stiles-centric, Stilinski Family Feels, lots more exposition than I ever thought there would be sorry not sorry, post-show, sorta hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodedwolf/pseuds/redhoodedwolf
Summary: Derek moved back to Beacon Hills at the beginning of the year, before Stiles had graduated, and told Scott only. Stiles didn’t even get an email. He was a little bit irritated by him at first, but the rush of capstone projects and finals swept away any harsh feelings, and when it was all over, Stiles came home to a sheepish Derek and an offer to get coffee to catch up.So Stiles decided he was going to raise Derek’s family from the dead for Halloween.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Last day of Sterek Week 2016: Halloween!  
> I always like doing a bigger fic over the holidays, and so this became 12K somehow. Hope you enjoy it!  
> The spell I used came from here, but I tweaked it: https://witchesofthecraft.com/category/book-of-spells/necromancy-spells/  
> Also, I've had the Necromancy wikipedia tab open for like three weeks now I gurantee I've worried at least some of my friends

            Derek once told Stiles that his family went crazy on Halloween, absolutely crazy. It was the one night of the year when they could be fully shifted in public and no one would bat an eye. And it was much like a game to them, to see how much they could get away with. Laura once walked into the grocery store after school one Halloween, fully shifted, claws out and eyes glowing, and she’d walked around for an hour before she got too stressed out about it and left. But she was still revered for her bravery for years after that. Derek had told the story with a sad smile, his face pinched in pain.

            Then Derek was gone a year later, then back for a couple months, then gone again. Stiles celebrated several Halloweens without Derek, and every one left him wondering how Derek was doing, if he’d been shifted in public at all, if he’d spent it with Cora.

            Now, Stiles was twenty-two, living in Beacon Hills after graduation, finishing up his studies at the police academy, and Derek was back.

            Derek moved back to Beacon Hills at the beginning of the year, before Stiles had graduated, and told Scott only. Stiles didn’t even get an email. He was a little bit irritated by him at first, but the rush of capstone projects and finals swept away any harsh feelings, and when it was all over, Stiles came home to a sheepish Derek and an offer to get coffee to catch up.

            So Stiles decided he was going to raise Derek’s family from the dead for Halloween.

            Well, it wasn’t _just_ the coffee meet-up that made Stiles make this decision. He’d been thinking about it for a while, ever since he figured out how to talk to his mom.

            After the nogitsune, Stiles wasn’t alright. He had boatloads of anxiety, panic attacks and nightmares daily, and the darkness wrapped around his heart squeezed so tight he feared some days he would die. With everything still happening, he didn’t even have time to address his problems before more piled on. And more. And more. Soon enough, it was the end of senior year, and Stiles was holding on by a very thin frayed string. He wasn’t sure he was going to make it to graduation, let alone college.

            The nogitsune left him a shell of his former self, everything that happened with the Dread Doctors and then him ceasing to exist…magic ripped him apart and then he glued himself back together with the shards still imbedded into his skin.

            When one person, human, takes on that much, it’s impossible that they managed to catch everything. Something slipped into the broken cracks; Stiles theorized it was during the nogitsune, with all of its powers of death.

            Stiles went to bed one night and woke up in a graveyard.

            He was curled around his mother’s tombstone, half naked and shivering, covered in dirt. The ground around his mother’s grave was disrupted, cracks in the dry soil. He had a silent panic attack as he clutched tightly to the practically dead flowers that were scattered at the base of her grave.

            “ _Darling_.”

            Stiles had jolted, breath punching out of him so hard that the panic attack vanished in an instant. He whipped his head around, but he was the only one there. The cemetery was silent and still except for his staggering breaths.

            “ _Listen to me, Stiles._ ”

            Stiles stumbled to his feet, shouting into the wind, “Who are you?! Where are you?! Show yourself!”

            “ _I wish I could. Oh sweetheart, you have gone through so much._ ”

            Stiles felt tears well up, emotion clogging his throat. “Mom?” he choked out. His eyes fell on the grave under his feet, and his fingertips brushed over the top of the tombstone. “I’m going insane,” Stiles panted, feeling tears drip down his face. Sobs wracked his body. “I’m done! I’ve lost it!”

            “ _Stiles._ ”

            “No!” Stiles screamed, clapping hands down over his ears. “This isn’t real,” he repeated to himself. “This is a dream. This isn’t real.”

            “ _Stiles._ ”

            “Shut up!” His voice cracked on the shout, and he collapsed in on himself, hitting the ground hard as he sobbed. “Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup…”

            “ _Sweetheart you need to calm down. This is real._ ”

            “It can’t be,” Stiles choked. Even with his hands covering his ears, he could still hear her voice. Eyes squeezed shut, he could practically see her, though the image was fuzzy at best. She wore a flowing white gown. Her hair was cut short, how she liked to wear it in the summer. She was barefoot. “This is impossible.”

            “ _Anything is possible, darling. You’ve been through so much; you must know that._ ”

            Stiles let out a wet, humorless laugh. “Exactly. That’s why I’ve snapped.”

            “ _No. That’s why I’m here. There’s something in you, apart of you now. We can speak._ ”

            Stiles opened his eyes. The graveyard was still empty. The night was as dark as it had been, the stars above hidden by the cloudy night. Stiles sniffled, curled his knees up to his chest and hugged them.

            “Tell me —” Stiles cut himself off, snapping his eyes closed. He saw her again, a blurred vision in white. “Tell me something only you would know.”

            “ _Go home, sweetheart. Sleep. In the morning, go to the spare room and look in the closet, in the back corner.”_ She chuckled. _“I hid some of my sharper things there, when my mind started to go._ ”

            Stiles thought of the missing pocket knife his mother used to always carry that he and his father feared was lost forever.

            “ _I’m afraid I may have called you to me, Stiles, and I am sorry for frightening you._ ”

            “I thought about you today,” Stiles choked out, finally addressing the vision behind his closed eyes as his mother. “That may have been why.”

            She smiled. “ _Sleep, darling. I will still be here when you wake up._ ”

            Stiles’ vision went dark, and he blinked his eyes open. He wiped the tears off of his face, wrapped his arms around his shirtless torso, and walked back home. As his mother requested, he took a shower to clean the dirt from his body before swaddling himself in his bed covers and falling to sleep. He was out in an instant.

            The next morning, Stiles went into the guest room and shoved everything out of the closet, piling all of the boxes of his old clothes and toys into the middle of the room. He made enough noise to attract his father, who was getting home from an evening shift but was curious to see what his son was up to before heading to bed. The sight that greeted him was enough to snap him awake.

            Stiles sat in the middle of what looked like a box explosion, clutching something tightly in a fist, staring down at it in silence. His eyes were puffy, like he’d recently been crying.

            “Stiles, what the hell is going on?” his father demanded, one hand on his hip and the other on his head, rubbing away exhaustion.

            Stiles released a shaky voice and held up his fist. “I talked to Mom last night.”

            The sheriff jolted, eyes going wide.

            “I. I didn’t believe it, not at first. I thought, heh…” Stiles shook his head. “I thought I’d finally lost it all.”

            His father frowned and shuffled into the room before sitting next to his son on the ground.

            “I went to her grave last night, somehow. She said she may have accidentally called me there. I don’t know. But she said to look in here for proof, and,” he held out his hand and dropped the switchblade into his father’s lap. “She said she’d hidden it, before…”

            His father had been speechless, staring down in wonder at the item. “So…you’re part of the chessboard now?” he finally asked, looking back at his son. Stiles ignored the tears in his eyes.

            Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m going to do some research, but…I talked to her, Dad. And I could do it again. Potentially.”

            The sheriff furrowed his eyebrows. “Now, don’t be doing anything stupid. If this endangers you, no matter how good of an outcome, I don’t want you doing it again, got it?”

            Stiles nodded, eyes falling to his lap. “I know. I. I need to talk to some people. Figure —”

            “Go to Barnes and Noble and find a Necromancy for Dummies book?” his father joked.

            Stiles’ eyebrows went up and he opened his mouth. “Actually…”

            His father shut him down with a shake of his head, but there wasn’t much malice in the gesture as his eyes were locked on one of his wife’s favorite things. It had been a wedding present from him to her. “Please be safe,” his father breathed.

            Stiles pulled his dad into a one-armed hug and squeezed his shoulders. “I will, I swear.”

            Stiles pulled through graduation, keeping his lips sealed about this newfound power. The rest of the werewolves and other varied supernatural creatures had their own problems. And this wasn’t a problem, yet, so Stiles wanted to figure this out on his own first before having a “pack meeting” about it.

            Stiles spent the summer researching. He pulled together as much information on necromancy as he could find, no matter how silly or vague it was. He snuck some books from Deaton, under the guise of visiting Scott at work. He was sure Deaton knew about the missing books, but Scott never mentioned Deaton wanting something back from Stiles, and until the man showed up to his house and physically took them back, Stiles was not handing them over.

            He was able to confirm and deny what he’d learned in his own research from the books, which helped him to be able to narrow his search.

            The theme that flowed through every book or webpage he found, however, stated explicitly that bringing people back from the dead was not a forever solution. They would not stay alive. And if you were to try to keep them that way, you would die.

            Necromancy was not to be messed with or taken lightly, he found out early on in his research process. Not that he planned to. Anything concerning his mother, ever, was taken seriously.

            Stiles practiced on plants, first.

            He went into the woods, found a patch of dying grass, and practiced reviving it. It took a lot of energy out of him, the first time, and he’d slept soundlessly for twelve hours. But he’d managed to brighten the brown and barren grass to a lustrous green for a full five minutes before black spots started to fill his vision. He woke up the next day after a long sleep, but feeling recharged. He took the rest of the day, just in case, to rest up more. But then the following day, he was back at it.

            Every other day, Stiles practiced. He moved up from grass, to plants, to flowers. Halfway through July, Stiles managed to draw sap from a dead oak tree, watching it trickle down the trunk before getting sucked up into the ground.

            Stiles accidentally moved on to animals one night when he was driving back from Scott’s house. A deer had jumped onto the road in front of him, and Stiles had slammed on the breaks. But he wasn’t fast enough.

            The impact killed the deer instantly, and Stiles’ jeep had gotten knocked back a few feet, the wheels squealing as the car bounced on the ground.

            Stiles jumped out of the Jeep after flicking on the hazard warning lights, running over to the deer to see if it was okay. It wasn’t.

            Stiles was panting, adrenaline coursing through him. He reached out a shaking hand to place it on the flank of the deer, trying to avoid touching the bloody mess of its face and neck. The neck probably cracked, which was why the death was immediate.

            It was almost eleven at night. Stiles’ jeep was still able to run through sheer force of will probably, but there were no other cars coming.

            Looking down at the poor animal, Stiles knew he couldn’t just leave it lying in the middle of the road.

            His hand began to tingle, power shooting through his fingertips like when he would practice in the woods, and Stiles felt his breath hitch. Maybe he could…

            Stiles closed his eyes, silenced his head, blocking out all other sound other than his heart beat. He focused on the rhythm, forced the beat to flow through him, flow down his arm, into his hands, into his fingertips. Stiles pressed down with his hand on the deer, shocking it to life like a defibrillator.

            The deer made a wounded noise, but life sparked in its eyes, and Stiles let out a rough breath. “Okay. Come on, baby. Let’s get you to the side of the road.”

            Stiles stood, hand still extended towards the deer, fearing that if he dropped it the connection would be lost. Stiles felt his heart hammer in his chest, throat constricting. This was a bigger job than he’d ever attempted to do, and he hadn’t prepared for how sudden his energy would be sucked out of him.

            Stiles staggered but remained standing, watching the deer unfold its legs under itself and get to its feet. Its neck and head were still gruesome, neck bent at an unnatural angle. Stiles swallowed back bile and used his other hand to gesture towards the side of the road.

            “Go,” he ordered, and the animal went, very slowly.

            Stiles bit back a sob when, as soon as the deer was on the other side of the guardrail, he dropped his hand, releasing the spell, and the deer dropped, collapsing. It made no noise as it died a second time.

            Stiles made it home, somehow.

            After that, he’d taken a bit of a break. He practiced revitalizing and killing an apple that had started to smell that was hidden in the back of the fridge, the magic for that almost as easy as breathing now. But anything more than that was too daunting, for a bit.

            He hadn’t gone back to the cemetery yet, for fear of what he would do. He had no intentions of digging up his mother’s grave and bringing her back. But how they had spoken before, in an almost vision-like state, that he could do. He just didn’t want to do it when anyone else was around.

            Stiles guessed he understood why most necromancers did their deeds in the middle of the night.

            A couple weeks after the deer incident, his father knocked on his bedroom door and asked, “Stiles, do you want to visit your mom with me today?”

            Stiles had frozen, swallowed thickly. His father stared at him with an arched eyebrow, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

            “I think I’d like to,” Stiles finally found the courage to say, and he slipped off of his bed and followed his dad out of the room.

            They stopped at a little florist shop first, picking up some bright yellow flowers Stiles didn’t know the name of, before heading towards the cemetery. Stiles’ knee jumped against the car door the entire drive there, anxiety making him bite at the skin around his fingernails. His dad kept shooting him glances, but there was nothing that could be done to calm him.

            When they pulled up to the cemetery, it took Stiles a minute to get himself out of the car. His dad kept a steadying hand on his shoulder as he led them towards his wife’s grave. His other hand held the bouquet of flowers, diligently making sure they were tilted upwards and not at risk of breaking.

            Stiles stopped two graves down from his mothers and he waved his dad ahead, saying that he just needed a minute.

            It was a warm day. A light breeze was blowing through. The atmosphere was light, the sun shining down, casting a warm glow around the place. His father’s voice wasn’t the only one being carried off in the wind. A few of the other graves had visitors. Everything was different from _that night_.

            Stiles steeled his courage and walked to his mother’s grave. The previously disrupted ground must have been fixed, because there was new grass growing where Stiles had broken it apart. His dad had put the bouquet up against the stone, and Stiles brushed his fingertips over the cold rock. “Hi, Mom,” he breathed, voice shaky.

            There was no response from either a voice in his head or the shaking of the ground. Just the quiet hum of an early summer afternoon. Stiles sighed in relief, surprising himself.

            He’d love to talk to his mother again, of course, but if he’d heard something from her, he’d know that his powers were not in his control. Stiles took his hand away from the tombstone to stop himself from being tempted to try.

            He and his dad didn’t spend too much time there, standing in silence. When they did decide to leave, Stiles told the grave that he would be back soon. He promised.

            The next day, he brushed up on researching the vision aspect of his powers. He figured it had the same sort of effect. Thinking about life and death, creating a bridge for it, except instead of doing this physically he had to do this in his mind. So he started meditating. Clearing his mind came easy to him now, after having been practicing it for almost two months. But doing that for an extended period of time was the tricky part, especially for Stiles.

            He spent several hours a day lying back on his bed, eyes closed, and just clearing away space in his mind. He’d read up that the best way to do this was to visualize his brain as a cluttered space. So all you had to do was clean it up, and then it would be nice, organized, and empty. So that was what he did. He filed away all of his thoughts and focused on breathing, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

            It took him a week and a half, but he managed to master it. He was able to sustain quiet in his brain for almost fifteen minutes, and that had only been broken because his father had rushed in and woken him up. He said Stiles had been pale and looked comatose. Stiles decided that after that he was going to alert his father before he did anything like that again, if they were going to be in the same vicinity. He really didn’t like seeing that look of utter anguish on his father’s face, thinking that he’d lost his son.

            At the beginning of August, with the clock ticking down to just a few more weeks before he left for school, Stiles went back to the cemetery. At night.

            The cemetery closed at seven, and Stiles waited until eight to go. He’d had a nice dinner with his dad and let him know of his plans, just in case he got arrested. Not that he had many worries like that. He had gotten pretty good at hiding from people.

            Once night fell, leaving the cemetery cold and dark, Stiles jumped the fence and took slow, measured steps towards his mother’s grave. He kept an eye out for flashlights, knowing those were his warning signs before someone came upon him, but he saw none as he approached his mother’s tombstone.

            He sat down across from it, and traced the letters of her name with a finger. He felt calm, the night air flowing through his lungs. He felt ready. Stiles pressed his hand flat against the ground beneath her stone, took a deep breath, and cleared his mind.

            After five minutes of nothing but listening to his heart beat, Stiles whispered, “Claudia Stilinski,” and imagined her face, calling for her.

            Someone gasped, Stiles squeezed his eyes closed, and he saw his mother. This time, the image was as clear as glass.

            Her eyes were shimmering like she was trying not to cry, hands folded together as if in prayer. “ _Oh, Stiles_ ,” she sighed. “ _Sweetheart, you did it._ ”

            Stiles choked back the sob that threatened to spill out of his lips. He almost lost the connection right then, having to draw his focus away from his mother to stop the noise, and that brought his focus back with a snap.

            “I did. Sorry it took so long.” He was proud that his voice didn’t crack, even though he’d whispered the words.

            “ _Don’t worry over that for a second. You were preparing. I knew._ ”

            Stiles jolted in surprise, although he honestly should not have been. He didn’t know much about the deceased after life, so knowing that she knew everything that he’d been through shouldn’t have shocked him.

            “We, uh…we visited you.”

            His mother’s face softened, a twinge of sadness in her expression. “ _Yes. Thank you. Your father…_ ” She looked hesitant to speak. “ _He is doing well._ ”

            Stiles chuckled, smiling softly. “Yeah, we’re both good. Now.”

            “ _You will tell him I say hello, yes? But do not… He has been spending time with Melissa. As well he should._ ”

            Ah. Stiles understood now. “I’ll tell him, yeah. Melissa makes him happy.”

            “ _That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him. And you._ ”

            Stiles released a shuddering breath. “I know, Mom. I…I miss you so much.”

            His mother reached out a hand, as if to touch him, but then she pulled back, remembering that they were on two different planes of existence. “ _I love you so much, Stiles. Never forget that I am always with you. And your father._ ”

            Stiles’ hands began to shake. “I know, Mom.”

            His mother’s face fell into one of worry. “ _You’ve used up a lot of energy, honey. Your father will be worrying about you if you don’t head home soon._ ”

            Stiles heard himself sob, and the vision of his mother fizzed for a second, like he had a bad connection. “I don’t want to leave yet!” he cried like a child.

            “ _A night guard will be by soon. You must go. We will talk again. I’m so proud of you._ ”

            Stiles sobbed once again, his vision swimming with tears, and they washed away his mother.

            Stiles blinked his eyes open, briskly wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks, and stood on shaky legs. “Hugs and kisses,” he choked on a whisper.

            A flashlight illuminated a gravestone a few down from his mother’s, and Stiles took off in the dark away from the approaching night guard, racing towards the fence and hopping over it in one fell swoop and making a break for his jeep that he’d parked across the street.

            His father was waiting up for him when he finally got home after a tense drive where Stiles pulled over twice because his hands were shaking so violently. He could feel the exhaustion hitting him, but he forced himself to stand up straight and address his father.

            It was almost ten, so it wasn’t even all that late, but he felt ready to sleep for a day and a half.

            His father stood from his chair when Stiles walked in, locking the front door behind him. The sheriff raised an eyebrow, silently asking several questions with the simple gesture.

            “Mom says hi,” Stiles managed before a yawn cracked his jaw.

            His father looked tense, mouth slightly pursed, but his eyes were soft. “You’re alright, then?” he prompted when Stiles said nothing else.

            Stiles nodded, lethargically. “Yeah. Tired, but good.”

            That was the first night Stiles talked to his mother, but it wasn’t the last. He gave himself a chance to relax, train and meditate some more, before going back out to the cemetery for a final time before he was off to college. That time, he’d gone in the very early hours of the morning, when the cemetery was technically open but no one really ever visited. It was mostly quiet and secluded. He spent an hour there, most of it in silence, just basking in the presence of his mother. It was then that she told him that he shouldn’t come see her so often.

            Stiles had choked, wanting to argue, but his mother explained. “ _I cannot be there for you, sweetheart. As much as I want to, you have to get through your life without me. You’ve been so strong so far, and you will only become stronger. I know it is hard to hear this, but it will only be worse in the end if you keep this up. When you need me, I’ll be here. But this is too extraneous for you to do so often. Come when you need me, not when you want me._ ”

            “Okay,” Stiles had conceded, even though he felt like he was throwing away his heart. His mother was right. “Okay. I will see you again, then. Maybe soon, maybe not.”

            His mother reached out a hand, and Stiles wished desperately she could hold him again, but she never could. That was the other heartbreaking aspect of his newfound powers — there would still forever be a disconnect between him and whoever he spoke to.

            “ _Be safe, son. Hugs and kisses._ ”

            “Hugs and kisses,” Stiles breathed before her image disappeared and he opened his eyes to find the sun now high in the sky, blinding him momentarily.

            He’d squeezed his eyes closed then, rubbing them with the heel of his hand as if to wipe away the dots that covered his vision.

            When he blinked them open again, he found himself looking up the hill of the cemetery, further up than he’d ever needed to venture. A very large tombstone caught his eye, and he’d of course seen it before, but something pulled him to his feet. He wanted to know who was at rest there.

            The hill wasn’t all that steep, but because of the hour he’d woken up this morning tied to the hour of using his powers, it took much more energy than normal to hike his knees up and pull himself forward towards the plot.

            As soon as the large black-inked name etched into the marble gravestone was readable, Stiles immediately knew why he had bene drawn towards it.

            The feeling of death heavy in his heart was obviously prevalent in the cemetery, but this rectangle of land as soon as he stepped near, he felt it tighten its grasp, as if daring to pull him under with them.

            HALE, it read.

            Stiles read the seemingly endless list of names on the large stone, and then moved to look at the smaller, but no less expensive and well-kept stone next to it, listing the names of Hale family members who had died before the fire; grandparents, great aunts and uncles. A father. A sister.

            Stiles thought of Derek. There were no fresh flowers around, and Stiles wondered if he ever brought some. He wondered if Derek had ever visited, or if he felt the grief better celebrated at the ruins of his home.

            Stiles felt the temptation to reach out. His powers were already drawn here, and even through his exhaustion, he felt encouraged to talk to the Hales. He hoped they were watching over Derek and Cora, like his mother watched over him and his father.

            He blinked, looked down at his hand, and found it inches away from touching the cool marble. He pulled back and shook his head. No.

            If he was going to talk with the Hales and communicate with them, he wasn’t going to do it without Derek at his side. Or Cora. Preferably both.

            So, as Stiles packed up and moved away to college, Stiles began researching how he could make that happen.

            Now, a graduate and apparent coffee buddies with Derek Hale, Stiles was very determined to put what he’d learned to good use.

* * *

            It was midnight, but Stiles had long ago gotten over his fear of dark shadows in the night, so he sat at the foot of his mother’s grave with confidence. He’d slept throughout the day, resting up for what he was going to attempt today.

            He’d gone over the spell a hundred times in the last week, at least. Part of him was worried he’d jotted down a few verses on his latest written exam for the police academy, but it certainly wouldn’t be the oddest thing he’d ever written for school.

            His father had visited the grave a few days ago, and Stiles had regretfully been busy with the academy. There were fresh-ish flowers gently laid in front of the stone; they were blue this time. His mother had loved all colors, but this pale blue shade was one she especially favored.

            Over four years of working on his powers left him feeling powerful at night, especially around the midnight hour. The cool fall night air filled his lungs, and his heart beat picked up a tad, preparing for what it was about to go through.

            Though he only did so a few times a year, interacting with his mother was as easy as reviving that old apple had been. He held his hand out in front of him, pressed it into the dirt at his feet. He felt the ground shift around him, the dirt welcoming him. His eyes closed, he imagined a cluttered room, and he got to work cleaning out all of his thoughts until only one was left.

            “Claudia Stilinski,” he called, and his mother’s beaming face appeared in front of him.

            And even though she grinned, there was a hint of hesitation in her expression, like she knew what Stiles was going to ask.

            “ _I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Is everything alright?_ ”

            Stiles had last sat down with his mother at the end of August, so meeting with her again within three months was more than he’d done since that first summer.

            “Everything is good, Mom.” Stiles smiled to reassure her. “But I am hoping for your help.”

            His mother’s eyebrows furrowed, and the way her face scrunched up made her look ridiculous and Stiles was tempted to laugh. But he didn’t want to derail what he needed to do tonight. “ _I do not know what I can do for you, sweetheart._ ”

            “You really don’t have to do anything. I just wanted to give you a heads-up before I did it anyway.”

            His mother’s face went serious, brow flattening out. “ _Is this dangerous?_ ”

            Stiles held back a wince. “Only a little bit. And that’s just because I haven’t done this before outside of practice. I didn’t want to just recreate _anyone_.”

            His mother looked even more confused now. “ _Stiles, you know that I trust you to be safe, but if this —_ ”

            He cut her off. “It _is_ safe,” he assured. “I just need practice with it, so I know how much energy it will take. You know Derek Hale, right?”

            His mother seemed taken aback by the sudden change in conversation, but she quickly adapted the way she had when Stiles was a child with ADHD tendencies to jump from one conversation to the next. “ _Yes. He is your friend. You’ve talked about him a few times. So has your father._ ”

            Stiles’ eyes were tempted to spring open in surprise at that, but he kept them shut, unwilling to break the connection for even a second. “That’s…good to hear, I guess. Yes, Derek is my friend. And as my friend I wanted to do something for him for Halloween, which is just a few weeks away. It was the twelfth anniversary of fire this year.”

            His mother made an affirming noise, but said nothing more. So Stiles continued. “And they had this tradition, on Halloween, that they would all spend it together. I think he should be able to do that again. And now that I have these abilities…”

            Stiles trailed off. A look of understanding passed over his mother’s face, and she nodded. “ _You would like to practice on me. Okay. Anything in the name of love._ ”

            Stiles sputtered, feeling his face flame up despite the fact that when he descended into these trances that he was always very cold to the touch. “I. This is not _love_!”

            His mother seemed surprised, a pink tint to her cheeks as well. “ _Oh. It is only…your father is under the impression that you like him very much._ ”

            “I do like him! He’s a good friend! And wouldn’t you know if I was dating someone? Can’t you see me? Like, somehow?”

            His mother chuckled. “ _It’s less of seeing and more of feeling. I can tell when you or your father are distressed, because I was deeply connected to you when I was living. I feel your happiness, and I can imagine your smile. But I cannot watch you like a guardian angel. It’s not like Stilinski TV,_ ” she teased. “ _Besides, on the rare occasions I can envision you, I would hope it would not be a date I am intruding on, as that is your business._ ”

            Stiles felt like his face was on fire. “Moving on, please,” he squeaked. “It doesn’t matter my… _feelings_ for Derek. I want to do this for him. He deserves it. And it’s something I can do.”

            “ _It’s going to take a lot of energy for you to materialize more than one person,_ ” his mother warned.

            “I know,” Stiles said. “I’m already working on something. A charm that will help me keep my energy up. I may pass out for a week afterwards, but I’ll be fine.”

            His mother huffed out a breath, one she and his father shared that meant “I don’t like this but I won’t stop you because I know you’d do it anyway.”

            With that in mind, Stiles opened his eyes and let them readjust to the darkness of the real world. The flowers at his feet were now nothing more than husks of life, and Stiles winced at the image. They had been so beautiful. But it was better that the offset of the energy of death it took to have conversations like this landed with a bouquet rather than the entire patch of ground he was sitting on. He was pretty sure the groundskeeper was getting suspicious.

            He stood, legs a little shaky, using the stone to get all the way to his feet. He stepped back, leaving a few feet between him and the stone, but making sure he wasn’t backing too far into the stones behind him. He narrowed his focus, stared at the engravings. He reread his mother’s name over and over. He closed his eyes and pictured her. He dark hair, falling over her shoulders as it did in the fall. Her favorite dress and shoe combination that she’d worn to any event she could get away with. Her smile.

            Stiles took a deep breath and released the words on a sigh, letting them go on the wind. “Guardians of the Spirit realm, hear and guide my plea. Now the witching hour rings true, bring my mother, Claudia Stilinski to me. Other souls who hear my call, are not welcome in this place. Only the one known as Claudia Stilinski may enter this sacred space.”

            Stiles felt his entire body go cold, feeling the effects of a shiver but never feeling the motion. He focused on his vision of his mother, envisioned molding the shape out of the air with his hands before dropping them and letting out a breath, his head falling against his chin. When he looked up, blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the bright white sight, an ethereal vision of his mother stood before him.

            Stiles was taller than her, now.

            He choked back a sob. Unlike in his visions where his mother had color, she looked like a stereotypical ghost. She was all white, and as the wind blew around her and through her, she shifted like a thin cloth draped over a wire.

            “You did it,” she spoke. Her words echoed in his head, but he could hear them normally now as well.

            Stiles sighed in relief. He had worried that this spell would only make it possible for him to see her, but because his human ears could pick up on her speech, there was a good chance that if he tried this with any Hales, that Derek would be able to see and hear them too.

            Stiles reached out for his mother’s shoulder, and his hand went right through her, as he expected.

            “I’m so glad that worked,” he huffed out, feeling a little breathless. Although, that was probably due to the fact that his heart had slowed down. He could hear it loud in his head. A thump every other second. It was a bit difficult for his lungs to get air. He knew it was just because this was the first time he’d practically tried the spell, and the next time he’d be more prepared, knowing the complications.

            “I am as well. You are so tall. It is difficult to tell when we converse in other ways. I can almost touch you now.” His mother caressed his cheek with fingertips that didn’t touch, but the tingling sensation he felt, almost like static shock, was enough for him. “But this is hard on you, sweetheart. You have gone very pale. You should not keep this up until you are more prepared.”

            “I know. I. I won’t Wow ‘m tired,” Stiles realized suddenly as his eyelids began to flutter. “I should go. Thank you f’r helping me.”

            “You are doing a very nice thing for your boy. Don’t push yourself to do it, though.”

            Stiles swallowed thickly, ignoring the ‘your boy’ comment, instead to respond, “I’ll be smart about it. If you see any of the Hales in the afterlife, can you let them know my plan?”

            His mother chuckled and nodded. “I will do my best to find them. But it’s rather difficult. We are not as close as we are in the cemetery.” She turned to look at the large plot up the hill behind them. She turned back to Stiles. “Let me go, honey. Hugs and kisses.”

            “Love you, Mom,” Stiles replied.

            Her smile was the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes again, her crafted image appearing behind his eyelids. He held his hands out once again, and with a ball of regret in his throat, he swiped his hands through the image, through the smile and the dress and the dark strands of hair, until there was nothing left but wispy white shadows.

            When he opened his eyes, he was alone, and he could breathe again.

            He looked up at the Hale plot and jogged over, shaking out the exhaustion in his limbs as he did. An unknown side effect of that spell, he guessed, was muscle exhaustion. He hadn’t expected that.

            The grave site looked the same as it had the last time he’d seen it, except for the small plot of flowers that now bisected the two stones. Stiles wondered if Derek planted them himself. He imagined Derek on his knees, talking to his family as he planted a seed for every person whom he’d lost. There were a lot of flowers that were just beginning to bloom.

            “I’ll see you guys soon,” Stiles promised, brushing weak fingers over the HALE inscription on the dark stone.

            He reached down to the ground and plucked a few blades of grass from underneath his feet. Life from death. He was hoping this would be a helpful aid when he put together his energy stone charm.

            Stiles safely tucked the grass into his pocket before turning on his heels. A flash of light illuminated a tree off to his right, and his feet picked up, knowing the drill by now that the flashlight was his cue to leave.

* * *

            Stiles met Derek for coffee the next afternoon. Derek was all smiles when he greeted him, a steaming Styrofoam cup held out towards Stiles, which he greatly appreciated. He downed a third of it in a few gulps, ignoring the way his tongue had fallen numb from heat with the first drop.

            “So, how did your written exam go?” Derek prompted, leaning back into his chair. He had his arm slung over the back of the chair next to him. He looked much more relaxed than Stiles remembered him being. And even though Stiles had seen him quite a few times since coming home after graduation, it still surprised him how much happier Derek looked now.

            “I think well. We’ll see,” Stiles responded, knuckling sleep out of his eyes.

            “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about,” Derek assured him. His eyebrows furrowed, however, and his lounged arm dropped back into his lap as he leaned forward and asked, “Long night?”

            “Kind of,” Stiles replied, speaking truthfully but vaguely enough for Derek not to pick up on the tiny miss-truth. “So, any interesting plans for Halloween this year?”

            Derek huffed lightly in amusement and shook his head. “Nothing more than giving out candy to trick-or-treaters. You?”

            Stiles shook his head. “Since I graduated, there’s not seven parties that I could choose from. Plus, I think I’ve grown out of that a little.”

            Derek glanced at him, a raised eyebrow, seemingly unbelieving.

            Stiles dropped his jaw and clutched at his chest in mock-offence. “I’ll have you know, Derek Hale, I have grown a lot over the last five years.”

            Derek’s gaze softened, eyes turning fond but a little bit sad. “Yes. I know.”

            Stiles swallowed, tongue suddenly feeling heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t intended to make Derek feel guilty. The past was behind them, and he had no intentions of dragging that back up. He decided to revert back to the subject. “If you’re not doing anything, in that case, could I come over?”

            Derek looked surprised at first, but them a wide grin split his face. “Sure, that would be nice.”

            Stiles felt his heart trip all over itself seeing the pure happiness Derek was radiating. He wondered if his smile alone could brighten the darkness that was wrapped around his heart.

            “I, uh, have to take care of the trick-or-treaters in my neighborhood, since Dad is working that night and he asked me to, but I can come over after that. Say, eight? I have some ideas of how we can spend the evening.”

            Derek’s smile softened and he licked his lips, chasing a drip of coffee that tried to escape, and Stiles felt his breath hitch and covered it up with a cough. “I am looking forward to it.”

            Stiles clutched at the chain around his neck, cupping the glass sphere hidden underneath his shirt. “Me too, Derek.”

* * *

            Derek and Stiles had spent another hour just chatting. Derek inquired about Scott and Lydia and what they were up to, as if he didn’t already know, but he indulged Stiles’ stories of past Halloweens, lamenting the fact that his friends were both at school for their master’s degrees. Derek was contemplating adopting a pet, saying that his apartment got kind of lonely some days. Stiles teased that he should just crash there more often, and Derek hadn’t said it would be a bad idea.

            Stiles really needed to get his heartbeat in check, or Derek was going to figure out his pathetic crush without any effort.

            So maybe Stiles’ father hadn’t been so off base as to how much Stiles liked Derek, but Stiles had barely admitted it to himself. He wasn’t prepared to get crushed by Derek’s most likely gentle rejection. Although, he wasn’t sure at this point of he’d ever be prepared to be rejected by Derek.

            They’d both forgiven each other for the things they’d done in their pasts, and Stiles did understand Derek’s reason for leaving and would have done the same thing in his position. But the fact of the matter was that it still happened. Another rejection would feel just the horrible as the non-existent goodbyes did.

            So Stiles was prepared to pine from a distance and be the best friend Derek could ever have, and give him the best Halloween he could.

            The silver chain around his neck he’d been wearing for two weeks straight, only taking it off to shower and when he had to do physical training for the police academy, for fear that it would break.

            Inside the glass sphere that hung like a Christmas ornament off of the chain Stiles had placed the dying blades of grass from the grave site of the Hales, a rough stone of black jasper, and a single red rose petal that was quite shriveled by now.

            After two weeks of keeping the charm as close to his heart for as long as possible, it was only days away from Halloween, and Stiles knew he had to prepare himself if he was going to pull this off.

            He used an abridged version of the spell he used to bring spirits to physical life to push his energy and power into the charm. He laid back on his bed, lights off and the window open to let the midnight moonlight illuminate the room on its own. Cupping the chain and charm between his hands, he whispered the chant, lips brushing against the glass as he spoke.

            “Guardians of the Spirit realm, hear and guide my plea. Now the witching hour rings true, allow this charm to help bring spirits to me. Other souls who hear my call, will not be welcome in their place. Only the ones I hold deep in my heart may enter the sacred space.”

            Stiles felt his breath punch out of him, his hands stinging where they touched the silver chain, but he held onto it, not letting it go. He gritted his teeth and bared the pain until it dissipated, along with all of his energy.

            He slept for two days, all the while the energy he would have spent was being saved and preserved in the charm, just for Halloween night.

            Stiles had told his father the whole plan. He told him how long, approximately, he was going to be asleep, and that if it hit Halloween morning and he had not woken up to then alert Deaton who would probably know how to fix it. Because he had created the spell specifically for Halloween and specifically to bring back the Hales for a night, the spell should respect his wishes and wake him up on the day so that he could prepare.

            He told Derek over text, because the man would have been able to hear the lie if it had been any other form of communication, that he had a surprise exam at the academy so to not be surprised if he didn’t hear from Stiles all weekend. Stiles was grateful that Halloween fell on a Monday this year. He was able to do this and not miss any academy training.

            Over the course of those two days, Stiles drifted in a dreamscape. He saw his mother, who said nothing but hugged him tightly and kissed his forehead. He saw Laura, a fully put-together body, sitting cross-legged on the ground, brushing fingers through her hair, her eyes a blazing alpha red. He saw a man, though Stiles didn’t know who he was, but he had Derek’s eyes and they crinkled the same way when he smiled.

            When Stiles finally woke, his father was at his bedside despite it being four o’clock in the morning, bags under his eyes. He looked relieved to see Stiles awake, but the relief quickly fell to agitation.

            “Derek _texted_ me,” his father spat the word, as if it were toxic. “Tell me again why you’ve kept this a secret? He’s apparently concerned about your wellbeing.”

            Stiles smiled, still a little bit tired. His face felt warm, a sudden rush of heat now that he had woken up from his coma-esque state. “That’s nice of him,” his speech slurred slightly.

            His father rolled his eyes. “Once it’s a respectable hour, text him and let him know you’re good, okay?”

            Stiles nodded. His father squeezed his shoulder, and Stiles could see the tension leak out of him. It couldn’t have been fun for him, watching Stiles be half-dead for two days.

            “Dad,” Stiles said suddenly, halting his father’s escape. “Thank you, for all of this. I know that when I first discovered this power I worried you. And even now that I know and am in control of them, it’s still risky. I’m sorry for all the stress this has probably caused you. I never meant it.”

            His father pursed his lips and sighed heavily out of his nose. “You never half-ass anything, kid. I’m always going to worry about you, but I do trust you. That’s a dad’s job. There is nothing to forgive.”

            Stiles felt a stinging in the back of his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, really not wanting to cry over such a short confession. But it was a relief, to know his father was okay with this.

            “I’m not going to do anything this much for a long while,” Stiles promised.

            His father squeezed Stiles’ ankle that was half under and out of the blankets twisted around his legs. With that silent thank you, his father took his leave.

            Stiles uncurled his fingers and stared at the necklace in his hands. The silver chain was now as dark as ash, and Stiles wondered if it was going to hold up for the entire night. The glass sphere itself looked slightly torched, but from the inside. Sitting on the darkened patch of glass was a smooth black jasper stone, and a living, thriving rose petal surrounded with vibrant green blades of grass.

            Stiles clasped it around his neck, and even though it was an early hour, he felt more awake than he maybe ever had been, and got up to start his day early.

            He shot off a text to Derek around six, knowing the worry-wolf would probably be awake anyway, and he was tired of anxiously waiting for the clock to move faster so he could text Derek at a reasonable hour. _I’ve got a surprise for you tonight. I’ll be by yours around eight. I’m bringing all of the leftover candy because there is no way that’s all staying in my father’s clutches._

            Stiles got a response back immediately, so quickly that he almost threw his phone in shock at the vibrations. _Looking forward to it. Have a good day :)_

* * *

            Stiles was feeling a little bit nervous, of course. What he was attempting to do was risky, and even though he knew he could do it, it still wasn’t the safest thing for him. He was still human in all but this respect. He had to take that into consideration.

            But seeing all of the happy and smiling faces of the kids that showed up to trick-or-treat, and the cooing camera-wielding parents that kept their distance down at the bottom of the driveway boosted his morale.

            At the last minute, he’d remembered to throw a costume together, so he ran out to the party store after training and picked up a velvet witch hat (because what else would he dress as on the night he was going to semi-resurrect people?) with black feathers that spilled all over the brim. They tickled his face, but he dealt with it. He also slipped on a pair of black skinny jeans, some combat boots he hadn’t worn since he was a freshman in high school (thankfully they were big on him then and only slightly squeezed now), and a fitted black button-up that hugged him tightly. He let the charm fall over his chest, on top of the shirt. He hoped it added to the costume. He thought he looked pretty good.

            None of the kids commented on his costume, naturally, but a mother had brought along her baby in a fluffy pumpkin costume that declared _Baby’s First Halloween!_ in swirling green font. The baby had giggled, batted at the feathers on the witch hat when Stiles bent down to put some fun-sized chocolate bars into the bag the mother had hooked over her elbow. Stiles grinned down at the child and contorted his face awkwardly, making the baby burst into a loud fit of giggles.

            The stream of kids started petering off around seven thirty, and Stiles sat on the couch, waiting, watching the clock on his phone tick closer and closer to eight. By the time it was quarter till, Stiles was tired of being restless. He ditched the hat but didn’t want to change, plus he liked the atmosphere his outfit shrouded him in. It made him feel like a real necromancer, as silly as it sounded.

            Stiles scribbled out a quick note to tape on the plastic candy bowl, for any late stragglers or last minute kids, that they could pick two and to have a great evening. He didn’t refill the bowl, however, not wanting his father to eat what was left over once he got home, and instead tied off the remaining bag of candy and took it with him as he locked the front door behind him and jogged to his jeep in the driveway.

            He was careful on the streets, watching for kids walking alongside the road or even in it. The drive took longer, due to his vigilance, so he was practically shaking with nerves by the time he pulled up to Derek’s apartment.

            He sat in the car for a while, not caring that Derek probably already knew he’d arrived. It was five after eight, so he didn’t want to be any later, but he still had to get himself under control.

            He had faith in himself that he could do this. He clutched at the charm around his neck and pressed it over the pulse point of his neck. The cool glass stung his sweaty skin for a second, like a jolt of static electricity. The power within it was itching to escape. Less than four hours to midnight.

            Stiles took some deep breaths and waited for his hands to stop shaking. He could do this. With Derek at his side, this would be successful. He wanted to do this for Derek. He regretted that Cora was unable to be there due to her schooling, but he would be sure to ask her family if they had something they wanted to tell her. Or maybe it would be better for Derek to relay the message.

            Maybe Stiles should have brought ear plugs. Perhaps other than his magical involvement, he should stay out of the way?

            Stiles’ phone buzzed in his pocket, and he knew it was a text from Derek. Ignoring the text, because he guessed what it contained, he squeaked the jeep’s door open and locked it behind him before he ventured into the lobby of the apartment building.

            He took the stairs, using that extra time to solidify his resolve. What was he really worried about? He had confidence in himself. And Derek would be there.

            Stiles stumbled over a step, a sudden realization hitting him. Maybe he was actually nervous because of Derek? He hadn’t thought of what he’d do if Derek turned his offer down. What if he thought Stiles had overstepped? What if? What if?

            Stiles continued his trek up the stairs. No, he couldn’t be thinking negatively. He needed positive energy only to surround him. No matter how much good intent he had behind his magic, it was still tied with death and darkness. He couldn’t let that overwhelm him, and there was no need to get worked up over something that may not even happen. He needed to stay calm.

            The bag of candy almost slipped out of his hand. His palm was sweaty.

            The door to Derek’s loft slid open once Stiles hit the top of the stairs, and even though sweat patterned his brow he grinned up at Derek, chest heaving a little. Derek arched an eyebrow, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

            Stiles thrust the bag of candy out towards him and plopped it against Derek’s chest, and Derek hand to fumble to uncross his arms and catch it. Stiles huffed out a laugh at the image.

            “Here. Sorry I’m late,” Stiles offered, stepping into the loft. Derek closed the door behind them. “I didn’t want my dad to get any ideas about breaking his diet,” he added, nudging his head in the direction of the bag of candy. “Figured we could binge.”

            Derek smirked. “Aren’t you in training?”

            Stiles huffed, a small pout on his lips. “I can break for a day,” Stiles countered, plopping himself onto the couch. Derek took a seat next to him, offering him a cold beer from the fridge. Stiles took it, cracked the glass against Derek’s gently, and took a swig. Derek mimicked his motion, though his nose scrunched up adorably when he did. Derek wasn’t a huge fan of beer, but he still continued to buy it for some reason.

            Derek pointed with the bottle, after swallowing down a mouthful with a wince, at Stiles. “What’s with the outfit?”

            Stiles glanced down at himself. The charm rolled with the movement, chain hooking over one of the black buttons on his shirt. He untangled it with a quick motion of his finger. He looked back up with a grin. “What? You don’t like my witchy-attire?”

            Derek reached over with his free hand, fingers skirting across his cheek. Stiles’ breath hitched. Derek’s fingers continued to travel up and wove into his hair. Stiles felt his face heat up, breaths coming out in short bursts. Derek retracted his hand a second later, eyes locked with Stiles’. He held up his hand in front of their faces, and pinched between his fingers was a stray black feather from the witch hat.

            Stiles felt his shoulders slump in disappointment.

            “So I had a hat to top it off, sue me,” Stiles grumbled, willing his face to return to a normal color.

            “Why didn’t you wear it here? It would have made your…” Derek trailed off, gaze dragging up and down Stiles’ body slowly. “…costume more obvious.”

            Stiles huffed and pressed the cool bottle to one cheek. “You’re one to talk, mister. Where’s your costume?”

            Derek flashed his eyes, his fangs, and Stiles’ heart beat skipped.

            “Fair,” Stiles responded to the action, taking another sip of his beer. “Did you get many trick-or-treaters?”

            Derek’s lips pursed, a frown on his face. “There’s only a few families in the building. Not many others came from the surrounding ones.”

            Stiles nudged Derek’s shoulder when the silence following the statement dragged on for too long. “You should come over with me to my dad’s for Halloween next year, then. We get lots of neighborhood kids. Their costumes are so creative.”

            Derek shifted so that he was tilted towards Stiles. His beer was abandoned on the coffee table, and he instead stuck his hand into the candy bag and was rummaging around in it. “What was your favorite one you saw this year?”

            Stiles’ eyes lit up.

            They fell into easy conversation, talking about all of the costumes they saw. Stiles told the story of the pumpkin baby, and Derek cooed at him, making Stiles blush again. At some point, Stiles emptied his bottle and reached for Derek’s, knowing the man wasn’t going to drink any more. Lips catching the rim of the bottle, he forced himself not to think too much about how Derek’s had been likely in that same spot.

            The television was switched on at some point, and the nightly news fell way to the Charlie Brown Halloween special, so they paused to watch that, murmuring memories of past holidays that were spurred by the show.

            Stiles checked the time on his phone after a while, and was surprised to find that it was already close to ten. Derek was getting fidgety, gaze flitting to Stiles and then backing away. Stiles sighed, dramatically, and took a bite of a Twizzler. He looked at Derek, silently asking a question.

            Derek bit into his mini Snickers. A string of the caramel stretched out, and Derek twisted it around with his tongue to cut it off. Stiles swallowed thickly, almost choking on his candy.

            “I thought you said you had something planned. A surprise.”

            Stiles jolted, eyes jumping up to meet Derek’s and away from his pink lips. “Uh,” he stammered. “I. I do. But…” He worked at his bottom lip with his teeth. Should he tell Derek now? It wasn’t close enough to midnight for them to start. Maybe in an hour or so, but…

            “Stiles?” Derek prompted, ducking his head to catch Stiles’ eyes. “Everything okay?”

            “I can do magic,” Stiles blurted out, startling himself.

            Derek sat back abruptly, eyebrows almost one with his hairline. His mouth was parted on a surprised gasp. He licked his lips. “I didn’t hear a lie.”

            Stiles shook his head and then dropped his gaze. “No. I figured it out at the end of senior year.”

            “Of college?”

            Stiles winced. “High school.” He purposefully kept his gaze away, not wanting to see Derek’s angry eyebrows.

            Derek was quiet for a minute. The candy bag crinkled as Derek moved it to the coffee table next to the two empty bottles. He scooted closer to Stiles, arm draping over the back of the couch by Stiles’ head. He could feel the warmth of Derek’s body next to him. It made him feel too warm. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

            “No one knows. Except my dad. It wasn’t something life-threatening, so at the time I thought it was the smarter thing to keep it to myself. And I just…never needed to tell anyone else.”

            Derek sighed softly, and Stiles allowed himself to look at the older man now. There was weariness on Derek’s face, but the annoyance that he’d been wary of wasn’t there, at least not anymore.

            “Why tell me now?” Derek asked then, their gazes locking.

            “Because there’s something I want to do. For you.”

            Derek bit back his immediate response, and Stiles was glad. He had probably been about to say something like, “You don’t need to do anything for me,” and Stiles would have snapped back, and it would have blown up.

            Instead, Derek thought first, and then said, “Explain more. What type of magic do you have? Because I don’t sense anything different about you.”

            “That’s because I think it started before you left. After the nogitsune.”

            Derek’s eyes widened a pinch. “You did seem off after that. But I had assumed it was the darkness, or whatever Deaton called it. And the trauma.”

            Stiles resisted the urge to grind his teeth together. “Yeah. It was a conglomeration of it all, probably.”

            Stiles coughed into his fist, clutched at the charm with the other, which did not escape Derek’s notice, and continued his explanation. “That’s my theory, at least. That there was just some part of the nogitsune left behind, and after everything, it didn’t manifest until it all was over. And then suddenly I’m waking up in a cemetery and talking to my dead mother.”

            Derek took in a sharp breath. Stiles thought that Derek knew where this might be going.

            “Anyway, I got it under control. And over college I learned a lot more about my abilities. I don’t often use them. Sometimes I’ll talk to my mom, but that’s mostly the extent. If my magic ever gets to be too much bottled up, I’ll just practice revitalizing a dead flower until I’m less jittery.”

            “So you’re a necromancer? Is that the correct term?”

            Stiles nodded. “As far as I can tell, that’s about where my magic lies. I haven’t been able to do any other magic, though I haven’t tried in a couple years. But I’m not really interested in gaining more power. I didn’t want any in the first place.”

            Derek’s gaze was penetrating. “Are you okay?” he asked sincerely.

            Stiles gave him an encouraging smile. “Yeah. Yeah I’ve come to terms with it, and I’m fine now.”

            “So what does this have to do with me?” Derek asked, head tilted to the side. It was far too adorable of an image for a twenty-eight-year-old man to make.

            Stiles ducked his head, clenching his hand around the charm tighter. “I wanted to do something for you,” he admitted. He looked back up at Derek. “I remember what you told me, forever ago, about your family’s Halloween tradition.”

            Derek’s eyes widened, probably remembering the conversation.

            “And so I —”

            “Stiles,” Derek cut him off, hand reaching out to cup his shoulder. With Derek’s other arm still slung over the back of the couch, Stiles was technically now surrounded by Derek. He tried not to focus too much on how close they were. “Stiles, I have a feeling I know where you’re going with this. You don’t need to.”

            “But I want to,” Stiles said, trying to pull back the whine in his voice as much as possible. “I’ve done this before. I practiced on my mom and it went fine. I made preparations,” he wiggled the charm around his neck, showing it off to Derek, “and I know what I’m doing. I want to give you this one night.”

            Derek looked completely shell-shocked. “I. I don’t.” He was at a loss for words.

            Stiles took a deep breath and reached for the hand Derek had on his shoulder. He took Derek by the wrist and brought the hand down, cradling his limp fist between his hands. “Please, Derek. I know I can do this. You deserve this.”

            Derek’s breath audibly hitched. His mouth was quivering, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

            “Let me give you your family back, for just a little while.”

            Derek’s body stilled. The hand in Stiles’ grasp ceased trembling, and Stiles looked down at it in surprise ad then back up to Derek’s face. His eyes were slightly averted, like he was thinking hard about something.

            His other arm twitched, then began to move. It lifted from the back of the couch, and Derek reached out, shifting his body forward, as he cupped Stiles jaw in his hand. His fingers were shockingly smooth. His thumb traced the line of Stiles’ jaw, smoothing back the short patch of stubble there.

            Derek pulled Stiles’ face closer, and Stiles felt his entire body go warm. Derek’s lips brushed against his, hesitantly, and a puff of air passed between them. They were both too keyed up.

            Stiles couldn’t take the waiting anymore, and he wasn’t strong enough to resist this temptation. He pressed that centimeter forward and kissed Derek properly. As soon as their lips touched, Derek reacted, snatching Stiles’ wrist with the hand in his, shaking it loose from Stiles’ hold just to pull him closer. The hand on his jaw moved to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair to pull him deeper into the kiss.

            Derek tasted like chocolate and beer, and interesting combination. Stiles clutched at Derek’s shirt with his free hand, needing to do something with it, and wanting to touch Derek with every bit of him that he had.

            Derek broke the kiss after a long moment, pulling back just an inch to catch his breath. Stiles opened his eyes, and he wasn’t sure when he’d closed them. Derek’s eyes were a startling image this close up. They were so beautiful.

            “Hell of a first date,” Derek said on a breath.

            Stiles swallowed, choked out a strangled laugh in Derek’s face, before responding, “Well, go big or go home.”

            Derek brushed his nose against Stiles’, and Stiles sighed happily at the tender touch, eyelids fluttering.

            “I didn’t think,” Derek began. He started again after a moment of hesitation. “Once you’d graduated, I didn’t think that you would see me as anything more than a friend. But the more time we spent together, I began to doubt that.”

            “You were right,” Stiles murmured, a small smile on his face. “I thought the same. That you saw us as friends.”

            “For you to do this for me… Stiles, that’s a lot.”

            Stiles fingered the collar of Derek’s shirt, thumb brushing against the skin exposed there. “It’s nothing less than you deserve. And I would have done it, even if you didn’t —” Stiles cut himself off, ducking his head. Derek’s lips grazed his forehead, and the skin tingled.

            He should probably save the love confessions for a later date.

            “Okay,” Derek said, and Stiles wasn’t sure what it was in response to, but it didn’t matter a second later because Derek lifted his chin back up and kissed him again.

            Stiles eventually, regretfully broke the kiss to check the time. It was almost time to go.

            “Derek. Will you let me give this to you?” Stiles requested, staring at the werewolf in all seriousness.

            Derek looked hesitant, but he nodded. “Yes, I. I trust you. How will this work, exactly?”

            Stiles held Derek’s hand throughout the whole explanation of the spell and the crafting of the wind-shaped bodies, their fingers intertwined. Where Derek and he touched, Stiles felt warm. Stiles showed him the charm, pointing out all that was inside and the significance of each item. The stone was to ground him, the core of the charm that hosted his energy. The blades of grass were representative of the Hales he was going to bring out, When the grass died, it would be time to send them back. Derek blushed when Stiles said that the rose petal had to do with intent and his reason for doing this spell. Stiles didn’t need to voice that he was doing this for Derek because of how much he cared for him. Derek understood.

            They drove Derek’s Camaro to the cemetery, because it was more easily hidden than his powder blue jeep. The cemetery was silent save for the noises of the night. The two snuck in easily, jumping the fence.

            Stiles let Derek lead him to the Hale plot, their hands linked the entire walk over. Derek actually had earplugs in his apartment, so Stiles had them tucked into his pocket. Derek had handed them over with a look of thanks on his face. This was an intimate moment. And even though Stiles was the catalyst, he wasn’t involved.

            “Hey,” Derek whispered, voice almost overpowered by the blowing breeze. “Happy Halloween. This is Stiles.” Stiles waved at the stones. “He’s to thank for this night.”

            “You ready?” Stiles asked. The moon was bright up above, casting silvery light and shadows across the ground. Stiles moved into a patch of moonlight, waiting for Derek’s signal.

            Derek was silent for a long minute, staring at the ground and the graves with an intensity Stiles rarely saw him with outside of battles. So it had been a long time since he’d seen it.

            Then, Derek nodded sharply, once, and stepped back.

            Stiles closed his eyes. He brought up the images of the pictures Derek had showed him just a few minutes ago. Of his mother and father, on their wedding day. Of Laura at her high school graduation. Of his grandmother, his aunts, his uncle, and his three cousins. Stiles knew there was also a baby lost to the family, but Derek hadn’t wanted him to stretch himself even thinner for a family member he’d never be able to speak with.

            Stiles spoke the same spell he’d used to call out his mother, except he replaced ‘Claudia Stilinski’ with all of the names of the Hale family. As he said their name, he visualized them. As soon as the spell finished, Stiles clutched the charm with one hand, calling on his energy stored there, and with the other hand molded at the air around him, forming arms, legs, clothes, hair, until every last detail was added and he released a breath, breathing temporary life into these spirits, for one night only.

            He opened his eyes, and a group stood before them. Stiles confirmed that they were all present before looking to Derek. Derek was staring right at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

            Stiles gave him a weak smile and then plopped himself onto the ground. He put the ear plugs in, and they did a decent job of blocking out noise; he could barely hear the wind. He closed his eyes and focused on the charm. He felt tired and woozy already, but he had planned for this. He continued to manage the amount of energy he was expounding, making sure each Hale family member had enough for at least an hour with Derek. That was what he promised, and by God was he going to deliver.

            At some point, he felt a rush of air fall over him. And even though he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his slow and steady heartbeat, he swore he remembered someone speaking to him, telling him thank you, and wishing him well with Derek.

            The rest of the night was near silence and darkness.

* * *

 

            Stiles woke up in a bed that wasn’t his with arms wrapped around him. The arms were bare, but he was wearing a shirt. The charm was still around his neck, but the chain had faded back to silver, looking worse for wear, and inside the blades of grass and rose petal were shriveled husks. The stone, however, looked the same. He raised his gaze up to the face of his bed partner, and he immediately relaxed.

            Derek was smiling down at him, eyes twinkling. “Good morning.”

            “Morning,” Stiles mumbled, arching his face up for a kiss, which Derek readily agreed to.

            They kissed for a bit, before Stiles pulled away, sticking his tongue out of his mouth with a disgusted look on his face because _ew, morning breath_. Derek just laughed at him.

            “Did,” Stiles asked, hesitating a little. “Did you have a good night? I don’t remember much of the actual…event.”

            Derek rubbed his arm as he spoke, and Stiles melted at the warm caress on his cold skin. “Yes. I. Thank you, Stiles. For giving me a chance to say goodbye properly.”

            “I know it’s something that I had wanted. I wanted you to be able to do the same.”

            Derek eyes looked slightly shiny, like he was holding back tears. Stiles could imagine, knew the feeling himself, what Derek was feeling right now. Elation and sadness all at the same time was a terrible emotional concoction to deal with.

            “You were so exhausted last night I had to carry you here.”

            Stiles buried his face into Derek’s chest, pressing a kiss to his pec. “Thank you.”

            Derek hummed, cupping the back of Stiles’ head, fingers running a soothing pattern over his scalp. “It’s still early. Get some more rest. I’ll be here when you get up.”

            Stiles nodded, Derek tilted his face up for one last soft kiss, before he closed his eyes as well and settled back onto the bed. Stiles starfished himself on top of Derek, because he could now, and curled around him. Derek’s warmth perfectly balanced out the chill of his own body. It made him feel light. He drifted off to sleep in an instant.

**Author's Note:**

> There's more of this insanity on my tumblr at redhoodedwolf


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